Discourage
by CloseEncounters
Summary: Mason Verger has an ultimate revenge on his mind – he plans to kidnap and kill not only Dr Lecter but also Clarice Starling.
1. A little fun of our own

Disclaimer: Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling and other characters contained in these posts were created by and are the intellectual property of Thomas Harris. They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit whatsoever. Anything you recognize belongs to Thomas Harris, anything else is CloseEncounters©2004.

I loved the books, and "Hannibal", in particular as I love Clarice Starling and am fascinated with the Clarice – Hannibal rapport.

However, I am convinced that being the villain he is Mason Verger would not be satisfied with just a physical torture of Dr Lecter. In Verger's state of mind only the ultimate revenge will do – a psychological torture that would without doubt involve the acute and immediate suffering of Clarice Starling.  
  
Therefore, I conceived the idea that Mason Verger planned to kidnap and kill not only Dr Lecter, but also Clarice Starling.  
  
Expanding on that notion, I tried to interweave my story into the cannon of the book. For this purpose, I used **_bold italics_** as a reference points within the book.

I hope you will enjoy reading the piece.

* * *

**_Discourage_**__

_By CloseEncounters_

... _**The Mustang's big pipes blew the dead grass flat as she pulled out of her driveway to call on Mason Verger.**_

There was a thud, then a clanking and jolting. The screeching of metal prompted Starling to slam the brakes. She got out and crouched to examine the damage. A wooden plank was wedged between the rear tire and the fender. She noted a large dent on the Mustang's body.

"Damnit," Starling stood up.

She heard it. Instantly coiled towards the sound of the air rifle, hand going for .45 behind the hip, neck arching instinctively, squeezing around the piercing intruder. With her vision failing, she saw men running out of the grey van. The pistol made it out of the holster and into the stubby grass of the sidewalk as she went on all four straining to get up. Then her body finally gave in and Starling slid onto her side. As her vision betrayed her the last thing she registered was brown scoffed boots, a strong smell of swill, somebody grasping the car keys out of her hand.

* * *

**_Tommaso sits in a cane chair, the tranquilizer rifle propped against the wall beside him. His dark prist's eyes never leave Dr Lecter's face._**

As the farrier's furnace flares up in the tack room of the old barn, the grey van is reversing into the view. Tommaso jumps up, picks the rifle and, still keeping his eyes on the prisoner, backs to the barrier, he calls out and cranes his neck to see the back doors of the van open and a woman's body lying motionless on the floor.

Deputy Sheriff Mogli with the set of Starling's guns tucked behind the belt gets out of the driver's seat and walks to the rear of the van.

From the darkness of the winter evening Piero appears and hands the Mustang's keys to Mogli who is clearly in charge. The car keys join Starling's boot knife in his front trouser pocket. Mogli orders Piero to bring a steel frame trolley from the tack room over to the van and turns to watch Carlo to unshackle their unconscious captive.

Tommaso glances again at the hanging figure of Dr Lecter and reports that the _dottore _is still out.

"Good." Mogli said. "Then we have plenty of time for a little fun of our own."

They transfer Starling to the trolley and roll her into the barn.

The rustle from the speakers attracts their attention.

"I see you have her." Mason said. "How was it?"

"Perfect, sir," Mogli said. "Nobody saw anything. It took less then three minutes. She had a set of guns," Mogli pointed at the guns around his waist, "and cuffs."

"I'm sure you'll put them to good use." Mason said.

"Also, in her car there was a fresh printout of your estate and its road connections, and someone's badge." Mogli continued. "Looks to me that she was on her way here, Mr Verger."

"Was she, was she indeed..." Mason contemplated the significance of this information. As such, it presented a possibility of turning a kidnapping into an unlawful entry and a trespass. Then, if required, anything that happened to her here, say, her unfortunate death, the least, could be blamed on Starling herself, an out of control interfering bitch, an embarrassment to such a fine institution as FBI.

"Excellent. We can set her up if necessary... Keep her stuff close by, Mogli, and leave her car away from the barn... We'll play it by ear."

"It's already done." Mogli grasped the chance to demonstrate his professionalism. "Can we get now to our little arrangement, Mr Verger? She is not going to live to tell the tail, is she?"

"No, no, she goes first, the antipasti of a sort," Mason giggled, "then the Doctor in two sittings, so he can watch her and delight himself in thinking of the joys to come."

"Make sure that whatever you are doing _is_ in full view of the Doctor," Mason's voice enriched by the speakers floated around the barn, "should he wake up while you are pleasuring yourselves with Ms Starling, he gets to see all the action."

"And, Mogli, when you are done, get your ass up here, I'll need to brief you." Mason said before switching off. "Cordell, get me Paul Krendler on the phone."

"Get to it, boys. Leave nothing on." Mogli said, popped Starling's shirt open and licked his lips.

As the men went about undressing Starling, the air of urgent anticipation hung around them. When she lay naked before them, her things piled beside the wall, the men paused a moment to admire her beautiful forms. Then Johnny Mogli pulled her left knee up, cuffed her left ankle to her left wrist and clipped it to a ring on the bottom left corner of the table, the same he repeated for the other side. Starling was ready.

Deputy Sheriff Mogli as an officer of the law was well aware of his responsibilities regarding the firearms. Before he dropped his gun belt to the ground he considered Starling's guns, propping his belly. He put Starling's ankle holster on his leg and transferred short .45 in. Then he felt the weight of the M1911A1 Colt .45 pistol in his hand, grinned and pushed it in between Starling's legs, sensing the growing excitement below his abdomen.

As men took turns in gratifying their sexual fantasies and urges, nobody was there to notice red sparks flying in the darkness behind Dr Lecter's eyes. It was sometime before Tommaso slumped back into his cane chair, and, exhausted, raised his gaze to the silent figure on the wall. Then, finally, he detected **_a change in the stillness of the bound man_**.

_**It is a subtle change, from unconsciousness to unnatural self-control, perhaps no more than a difference in the sound of his breathing.**_

_**Tommaso gets up from his chair and call out into the barn.**_

"_**Si sta svegliando."**_

* * *

Back to the Book until Chapter 86

* * *

Paul Krendler locked the front door and stood on the steps of his Georgetown house, sniffing the frisky air, flexing his narrow shoulders, readying for the evening jog when he heard the phone ring. He swore, flipped the key in the lock and went back in.

"Krendler's here." He said into the handset and winced when heard the respirator machine and a breath intake.

"Good evening, Mr Krendler." Mason paused for another breath. "I am sending the helicopter for you."

"What? Now? Starling is off your back, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is. I have just added Ms Starling to my list of the dinner guests." Mason Verger produced a sound resembling a chuckle. "I want you here too, Krendler. Trust me, you _will_ enjoy what I have in mind for you..."

"You've got Starling? When?"

"She has just been delivered – warm, inviting and very obliging, boys here are licking their lips and dropping their pants."

"Are you out of your mind? The Bureau will come looking for her – one thing is to snatch Lecter, the other the federal agent..."

"Come, come, Mr Krendler, she is damaged goods, thanks to your very competent efforts," another chuckle used the next breath, "as you so brilliantly pointed to the US Attorney today, she is just a hysterical bitch with an unhealthy obsession. Nobody would care... Come here and we all have so much fun. Be on that helicopter, Krendler. All work and no play make Paul a du-u-ull boy... "

"Yeah, okay," Krendler calculated the measure of threat in Mason's voice.

"Fucking son of a bitch," he said replacing the receiver.

* * *

_to be continued_

* * *

Please, bear with me should you come across some grammatical mistakes, particularly, an incorrect use of "a" and "the".  
  
I would greatly welcome your comments regarding my piece.  
  
Thank you very much for your time,  
  
CE


	2. Awakening

_Storyteller's Notes_: Thank you very much for your reviews. I really appreciate your opinions however critical -sigh- they are. I am sorry if I have upset some readers' sensitivity. However, this is a dark tale as "Hannibal" is a dark book.

As I said I couldn't resist expanding the events within the book to what I thought would be the most likely action for Mason Verger - **the** **ultimate revenge by all available means**.

Crucially, I thought, this was the only chance for Mason Verger to derive the complete and lasting pleasure given the fact that he doesn't get much chance to indulge his wickedness – his meddling with children, though, very damaging for the kids, but is still very shallow in comparison when you actually have someone in your direct power and play with them at your will.

Hence, I just tried to imagine if this scenario (of Starling herself being kidnapped) did happen how it would develop **realistically **considering the utter indifference of Mason and his henchmen to the human suffering as a taboo within the accepted moral code of the civilised society. That and their desire for the gratification of their needs – whether it is money or revenge or both or anything else they might want. For such people, to have an attractive woman in their full possession would be the opportunity they couldn't miss. IMHO. So, be warn – it is a dark tale…

Though, I do hope you'll enjoy the story and appreciate the realism as I envisioned it.

CE

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_Disclaimer_: as in the first part as it is continuation of the story...

* * *

_story continues…_

* * *

Clarice Starling is dreaming. Her dream is disturbing and unpleasant. Darkness encases her, she cannot see, she cannot move. She feels movement and agitation around her. Voices, heavy breathing. Ghastly smells and shadows are squashing her, pinning her down, grabbing at her shoulders, thighs and breasts. Her body rhythmically pulsates, first, slowly, then, faster and wilder, controlled by the clinging darkness. She feels the throbbing pain swelling below between her legs, into the abdomen. 

* * *

When Krendler walked into the darkened chamber Mason Verger was almost ready for his trip down to the barn. While Cordell was finishing the preparations, Mason watched the elevated monitor. 

When Krendler saw what Mason was watching, his jaw dropped and stayed there until he had a need to swallow. He saw the naked body of Clarice Starling spread out on the table while the men around were busy indulging themselves in the ways that froze Krendler's chest and left him wanting for air.

He unzipped his running suit and realised that the sweat soaking now his Princeton T-shirt did not come from overheating. He found himself licking his lips and feeling a pressing need against his jogging pants. _Son of a bitch was right about licking lips and dropping pants. Fuck, it is going too far, I can't get involved. _Krendler repeated the last sentence aloud, his envy fighting his self-preservation.

"You are involved, Krendler, in all of it,.." Mason said without taking his eye of the monitor. "Begin to think, Krendler. Everything else aside, you're being filmed standing here and enjoying the view of agent Starling being raped." Krendler glanced at the camera behind him, Mason went on, "Now, are _you_ going to miss your chance to fuck her? To show the bitch her place?.. By the midnight she'll be pig's dinner..."

"She is quiet. Is she –"

"This is the video, and, yes, she is still unconscious. "Mason's matter of fact responses, measured by his respirator, seemed to Krendler unnaturally calm in his own unease.

"She should be waking up soon from her dart induced beauty sleep." Mason giggled.

On the monitor Krendler watched again as Mogli pushed the pistol between Starling's legs. Krendler took a deep breath and bared his teeth at the sight of blood on the barrel when Mogli finally rested the pistol on Starling's chest.

"Whose gun is it?"

"Agent Starling's, I believe." Mason pressed buttons on a remote control and a close up of Dr Lecter, filled the screen, his arms spread on a singletree, the IV bottles attached to the back of his hands.

"Nice." Krendler moved his lips without a sound. It was difficult to know what exactly he referred to.

"We are ready to go, Mr Verger." Cordell said taking charge of Mason's wheelchair.

"So, Paul, what is to be? Let the boys there have all the fun?" Mason said. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah, I am coming," Krendler said and let the anticipation of the triumph over that cunt Starling to overwhelm him. "I want a copy of the video, Mason."

* * *

Clarice Starling, still dazed and slow, opens her eyes and shuts them again, flooded with the bright harsh light above. She listens to her body. Her limbs are stiff with cramps. The blazing pain is rising from the abdomen. She tries to shift her arms and legs from the uncomfortable position and realizes that she is being restrained. She turns her head to side, opens her eyes, and slowly looks down at herself. Registers that she is naked on the table, steel cold against her back, legs drawn up and spread out, ankles cuffed to the wrists. Rolling her head she observes an old barn showring surrounded by tiers of seats on three sides. She can see someone moving around and waits for her vision to clear as she tries to remember.

_I just set off to the Verger Estate when something happened to the car... I was shot with the dart and passed out... I saw boots that smelled of... of pigs_...

The dancing doubles in her sight settled into the singularities and Starling recognised a motionless figure at the front of a forklift with the arms stretched out and legs bound.

"Dr Lecter," she whispered.

She quickly assessed him. He had a burn ring on his shirt, one eye was shut swollen, his other eye winked to her. He seemed to be in a reasonable state.

"Well, hello, Clarice," he said. "Just like the old times then, but, I am afraid, this time we are both rather preoccupied for proper pleasantries."

As awareness washed over her, Starling felt a sick tightening in her chest and stomach. A shockwave of dread and fear jolted through, right down to her toes, raising every hair on her body. Cold sticky sweat wrapping around her like a cloak. She jerked her hands and knees together, a futile attempt to cover up. _Pathetic_, Starling bit her lip, regretting this spontaneous display of weakness.

Starling looked right into the Doctor's good eye, infinite night behind.

_You are a warrior, Clarice. Right. Balls._

She clenched her teeth, closed her eyes, took a deep slow breath, and another one, until the overwhelming trembling inside her was subdued and she was composed again.

_Damn the warrior..._ She did not want to think of what was coming.

_Fuck it. Breathe in, Starling, breathe... Don't give them the satisfaction. Oh, God..._

Starling was again aware of the pulsating pain, burning between her legs, inside her gut. Examined the symptoms with an indifference of a crime scene investigator and filed rape in her mind report. _Gang-rape, by the look of it_, she added, noting oily eyes of the men.

She glanced at Dr Lecter, realised that whatever happened to her in the barn had happened under his watchful eye. And felt her skin go up in flames, exposing her raw self writhing in pain at the freak amusement show. _Goddamnit, s_he needed to shut down her senses and emotions, close her mind, if she is to keep her dignity and fight.

Calm sadness that Dr Lecter saw veiling over Starling's face now sprawled from the thought of waste.

And betrayal, when she turned to look at someone approaching from the other side.

* * *

_to be continued…_

* * *

As ever I'd appreciate your reviews. 

CE


	3. Insanity most welcome

_Storyteller's Notes_: Thank you very much for your reviews. I greatly appreciate the time you are giving to read the story and write the reviews. I tried to make the chapters longer, hope now you'll find the length to your liking.

**Note of caution now**. This chapter contains a development that may offend some readers' sensitivity. No offence intended. As ever I tried to be true to my perception of realism in the given situation - what could one do in such circumstances if it was the last thing one ever did without any other means of a lasting revenge while expecting to suffer some torturous death - so much I can say without giving the plot away.

Also, I wanted to track the change within Clarice Starling that later in the book lead her into the arms of Dr Lecter. I felt that there was not enough of Starling's and Dr Lecter's inner world exposed within the book to show their thoughts and reasons that eventually brought their lives together.

Having said that, I hope you'll enjoy the story and give me your support.

CE

* * *

_Disclaimer_: as in the first part as it is a continuation of the story...

* * *

_story continues…_

* * *

"Hello ex-agent Starling," Krendler said, and, when Starling regarded him with silence, went on in his kindest voice. "You blew it, Starling. You should've accepted the offer when you had a chance and your cornpone country pussy would've had much more enjoyable time."

_I should've shot the son of a bitch, when I had a chance…, in that damn room on the seventh floor… _

"Now you'll gobble up everything that's coming to you and that smart mouth of yours," Krendler paused to reflect if he should store the last phrase for future use and regretted that it would be out of context anywhere else. He remembered another one.

Krendler leaned over Starling, brought his face close to hers. "You're old to still be fucking your daddy, even for Southern white trash." He waited for her reaction. Starling just looked on, her mouth stiffened into a line. When her body recoiled at his touch, Krendler loved every minute of his feat. With his left hand fondling Starling's breast, Krendler moved his thumb over her tightened lips, pushed through to the clenched teeth and grinned towards Dr Lecter, "Have you got a good view, Lecter? This is the nearest you ever get to fucking former Special Agent Starling."

"Did you say, Doctor: _Like the old times_? Quite right, too." Mason Verger wished he could rub his hands in delight. "Can you smell your old cell? Because that is all you'll be able to do - smell, watch and dribble..."

"I must commend you on your self-observation, Mason. The solitude enhanced your analytical skills. Do not dwell on it, though, if you work hard, you might make a second grade." Lecter said.

"Oh, you will appreciate my efforts, Doctor." Mason let the flash of anger die while he waited for the breath. "It's well worth a wait."

Krendler's hands moved down to Starling's inner thighs, pushing her knees apart. He bent down to look into the opening and whistled. "You never had it so good, Starling"

"All good things to those who wait, Clarice," said Lecter, reverberating 'wait', his eye sparkling.

"Do tell the Doctor how she fucks, Paul." Mason said.

Starling felt the penetration like someone plunged fingers into a fresh gunshot wound. She didn't look away. Frost in her eyes.

_Teach us to care and not to care. Teach us to be still._

She felt Krendler's breath getting heavy and strained, his stomach tensing, his hands bruising her breasts, groping her thighs and buttocks. He withdrew and she felt a searing pain shot through into her back as he entered again.

Krendler, pleased with his self-control, bared his teeth and drooled, "Sweet, fucking sweet, but I can tell you, Lecter, her cunt is better still, a dream of a cunt, guess, you'll never know. Wish you were here, Lecter?" Krendler grabbed Starling's waist and switched over again. "How selfish of you, Starling, to keep this cunt to yourself... "

Sensing the culmination of his efforts, looking directly into his eyes, Starling said loud and clear, lips quivering, "Cocksucking faggot."

Krendler choked and, robbed of his moment of triumph, came around to Starling's side, pulled her head to his gleaming cock, ejaculating.

"I have big plans for this smart mouth, open it,... bitch, I'll make you swallow. You'll fucking eat your words, Starling."

She did not flinch as she tasted his semen but her stomach turned. Still looking directly at Krendler, she launched herself as far up as the restrains allowed and closed her teeth around his shrinking penis, engulfing good three quarters of it.

An awful scream cut through the stunned silence. Krendler, bewildered, in shock, left hand still holding Starling's hair, brought a hard punch down her face. As her head reeled towards Dr Lecter, the same way went a large chunk of Krendler's pride and joy, still in Starling's mouth.

Struggling with the taste of blood, semen and flesh, Starling was grinding her mouthful until she could not hold any more and was sick. The sorry pulp of flesh fell in front of Dr Lecter, causing sparks of exhilaration in his eye.

"At last, a progress, Clarice, this drumbeating tattoo was becoming tedious."

She did not look, her face now drained and tired. She just said, "Shut up," and turned away, wishing she could wipe away along with the blood and semen the repulsion she felt this moment for herself.

Krendler dropped to his knees, screaming high-pitched cries, both hands grabbing the remains of his manhood, blood oozing through his fingers.

"Consider it as a little keep-sake, Mr Krendler." Blood from Starling's split eyebrow was seeping over her eye, crushed cheek muffled and strained her speech. "Next time you look at the "cornpone country pussy", sir, and clutch your sad little stump remember the day you sold out, was it worth it?" Starling licked her lips and again revulsion distorted her aching face, she was sick again. "Do not despair, Deputy Assistant Inspector General Krendler, all is not lost, sir, you can always resort to sodomy. This time, I believe, you'll be on the receiving end..."

Starling had some time to ponder the dark satisfaction she felt when she said it before her head swelled with pain and she lost consciousness. Watching her clenched fists relax and her body go limp Dr Lecter filed away the sight of her, naked, smelling of blood, semen and fury, fierce and vulnerable...

* * *

"You bitch!" Krendler was rolling on the ground spitting pain and rage.

_Fucking idiot_, Mason contemplated whether Krendler was an asset or a liability, _perhaps, I should cut my losses with this investment and feed the son of a bitch to the pigs?_

He watched Krendler, squirming on the barn floor, howling. "You, fucking bitch!" If Mason Verger had a face, it would display an utter contempt for the budding politician. _It's tempting, but after this and the video I'll have a total control over the faggot. The possibilities... the entertainment..._

"Moving on," Mason said. "Cordell, see to Mr Krendler's bleeding."

Krendler twisted his face to Mason Verger, perched in the wheelchair at the bottom row of the seating. "I want to _watch_... the fucking bitch die," more howls as Carlo and Tommaso dragged him to the tack room where Cordell was waiting with a temporary bandage. "I want, ar-r, fuck... be here... watch... when the witch wails and begs..."

"You're an idiot, Krendler. You couldn't just fuck her, you had to indulge." Mason said.

"That is the company you keep, Mason. Rude and idle. What does it say about you, hmm?" Dr Lector offered his observations.

"I am glad, Doctor," Mason waited for a breath pump, "you are amused. I wouldn't like to insult you with boredom. Hence, our dinner appointment is only postponed. You'll have your turn at the table," he chuckled, "after we watched agent Starling here to dance for her daddy with the pigs." The prospect had a calming effect on Mason.

"Cordell, get Mr Krendler on the helicopter, make the arrangements for him to be seen to without delay." Cordell was starting the van when Mason said, "You have until tomorrow afternoon, Krendler." Mason closed his eye, calculating the timing, said, "We'll have a long menu to get though."

"In a meantime," Mason turned to Dr Lecter as Krendler's cries and curses dissolved into the night, "we'll have some more fun with Ms Starling. After all, she is to blame for the interruption in our carefully crafted plans." Mason reflected on the situation while machine hissed over the fallen silence. "On the other hand, it seems to follow the script perfectly. First, she gets her punishment and then, Dr Lecter, I'll present you with a little tableau I have arranged for you. You will love it, Doctor."

Nobody, except Lecter, has noticed a silent flexing mass shouldering each other in the dark outside the Dutch gate. Attracted by Krendler's cries, the beasts hurried from the woods, their little eyes gleaming with anticipation.

* * *

Under the barn ceiling there is a single railway for transportation of heavy loads. It has a pneumatic crane with a hook. Clarice Starling is hooked up to the crane by the cuffs on her wrists, her shackled ankles are chained to the farrier's anvil on the dirt floor underneath to prevent swaying.

She is raised high enough for Dr Lecter to see her face even as she drifts off and her head rolls onto her chest. His good eye never leaves her face.

She is being flogged, using Mason Verger's description. His prior thorough research provided Mason with the amount of lashes it's believed Jesus received before his crucifixion. Unfortunately, the cart-whip is not authentic Roman flagellum, but Mason is satisfied that'll do.

Clarice Starling is now half way through the punishment the procurator Mason Verger had sentenced her to. He gave her an option to appeal as long as she would kneel before him, admit her sins and beg for forgiveness.

"Fuck you," she replied.

She drifts in and out of consciousness. When she drifts out, she may see herself alone in a desert, the sun and sand burning her skin and breath. Or, her body may seek a relief in a soothing run of cool water and a refreshing breeze at a lakeside. Or, perhaps, she just feels the water, they hose her with to bring her back from her temporary respite. When she regains reality, her brain explodes with pain as the lash lacerates her skin or falls across an open wound. She then bites into her shoulder to capture her escaping cries.

When reality stays a dash too long to be endured, Starling bites into her mind to draw out an ultimately more insufferable pain – she questions the essence of her being. What has she done to deserve this? Abandoned by her side, surrendered to the enemy, sold out to serve as a tool in this ugly game of twisted revenge. The white-hot spire is piercing through her heart, burning a hole in the essence of Clarice Starling – her sense of right and wrong, the only link she finds the strongest to the memory of her parents. She is disarmed, exposed and behind the enemy lines – her sense of right and wrong is at a conflict with the morality of the world she swore to give her life to. This conflict is intolerable to the flesh of her mind. It drains her, overwhelms her, drives her insane. That is when Dr Lecter observes the pain of Starling's mind twisting her face, clenching her bloodless fists, gritting her teeth and letting out one long primeval scream she never hears.

Just before drifting off again Starling wonders if she should welcome the insanity...

* * *

_to be continued…_

* * *

Thank you for your time. As ever I'd appreciate your reviews.

CE


	4. The game we play

_Storyteller's Notes_: Thank you very much for your reviews. I greatly appreciate the time you are giving to read the story and write the reviews, considering this is my first ever attempt at writing a fanfic.

Some of you have commented on my style, which was very flattering. However, I am not sure, that I can claim the full responsibility for it. As I was expanding my story within the book I tried to write as close as I possibly could to the way Thomas Harris wrote Hannibal. Incidentally, I do find his style of writing endearing and hope that if I am to write any further fanfic I would be able to maintain the quality of my writing. Or, perhaps, even improve it.

CE

* * *

_Disclaimer_: as in the first part as it is a continuation of the story...

* * *

_story continues…_

* * *

After the excitement he experienced seeing the lashes slicing through Starling's skin, her resistance finally broken with a magnificent cry that gave him the joy he didn't have for a long time, Mason Verger felt exhausted like a whip that was now lying spent on the barn floor. Mason thought a little nap would revive him enough to enjoy the conclusion of this superb evening. 

It was a whimsy, but Mason delighted himself with its brilliancy. He will let Dr Lecter to get close to Starling, so close he would feel her heartbeat, feel her breath on his face, but not touch, he will deny him the joy of touch, just like Lecter denied it to him, Mason Verger. This should provide some time for Mason's recuperation.

"Carlo, move the Doctor to Ms Starling as close as possible. I want them so close, that if she is having a piss Dr Lecter feels it down his pants." Mason said. "Yes, that's perfect. Let them be for now while I rest. Keep the camera rolling, I'd want to see it later."

* * *

The chilly air of the barn was made tolerable by the large floodlights. Suspended from the crane, Clarice Starling was cold with fever. Was she glad her last experience was over? She didn't n know. Perhaps, she hoped her body would give in and die there and then. Now, on the edge of awareness, she resented that she was forced to return from her oblivion, back to her thoughts, back to pain, back to life, whatever for? Starling did not want to think, just wanted to be still...

Then she felt the presence of another being, the warmth of another body against her stomach, the deliberate raising of breath. Starling's own heart was beating in every wound, her skin shimmering with pulse. The other heartbeat had a steady comforting rhythm. As her father's would be_. Perhaps, it is my Daddy and I _am_ dead?_ Starling felt an irresistible urge to rest her head on her father's shoulder. And she did.

* * *

For the time that Dr Lecter observed Starling on the edge of death, he was contemplating whether Mischa still could have Starling's place in the world should she die here in Muskrat Farm at the hands of Mason Verger, or would this invalidate the place Dr Lecter selected for Mischa should the universe contract and time reverse. His indecision concerned him.

When he watched Starling being violated, watched the lashes biting into her flesh, swarms of the fireflies flew in the depth of his eyes, the maroon flames blowing high with the wind of wrath. He was then surprised to discover the staircases in his memory palace slippery with blood, leaking through the cracks, hurling him from the comforts of the glorious halls with leafy gardens down to the oubliettes and their ghastly smells.

Dr Lecter turned to the freedom of analysis to regain control of his mind. Were the traps of his memory dungeons flying open because the images of Starling, raped and tortured, belonged with Mischa's milk teeth in the reeking stool pit? Because to see her agony and endure his intimacy for her desecrated was as painful as to watch Mischa led away through the blood stained snow?

_Clarice Starling..._

He recognised her inner pain, her inner struggle, long before she was made aware of it. He marvelled at its intensity when it spilled out in that agonising cry, rising from her very core, sending shudders through her entire body.

Was her retaliation on Krendler part of that struggle? Anger for her inner pain? Or simply a need for the lasting revenge? Long ago Dr Lecter saw the potential, _what she was becoming – like one of the big cats, one you can't play with later_ – Krendler paid for his ignorance. Blind fool. He, Hannibal Lecter, saw it coming and when it did his genius intoxicated him, but even he found himself admiring the detachment and precision it was executed with.

A potential flexibility that would give her freedom from those tight shoes? Give her peace? Perhaps. The peace he found since he first looked in her eyes, smelled her scent, was it due to the knowledge that she occupied a place in the world? Somewhere. Would that peace irreparably shatter if her place was vacated even for Mischa's theoretical return? Or would his harmony be only complete if she occupied the place in _his_ world, if he found a place for Mischa _within_ Starling?

Then he felt the closeness of her body, the trembling fatigue of her muscles. And pain.

The touch crackled in his eye, when she leaned her head against his shoulder. As her scent flooded in and her sensation fragranced the high halls of his memory palace, he had no doubt in one matter – Starling's place in the world was the worthiest, and it pleased him immeasurably to share this place with her even for a brief moment. He'll stop for now in the cool shade of her garden that grew suddenly within the marble walls of his mind and reflect on the calm and joy he felt when she rested her head on his stretched arm...

* * *

When Starling opened her eyes to look at her father, she saw instead an unmistakable maroon eye.

"Dr Lecter..." He was unbearably close.

"How are you, Clarice?" Dr Lecter said.

Was it a concern she heard behind the metallic rasps of his voice or mockery?

Starling shifted her head, revealing a messy wound on her shoulder where she'd been stifling her screams. Considered his question for a moment and said, "Fucked."

She moved her arid tongue over her swollen lips and Lecter felt the fever of her breath, the dryness of her mouth.

"Tell me, Clarice, do you think it pleases me to see you like this?"

She raised her head to face him. "I don't know, does it?"

"No. No, I would not have wanted this happen to you." A twinkle of amusement in his eye, "As I said to you before, Clarice, discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me," and he tilted his head to side with a penetrating stare.

She wished she was able to laugh. Instead, her battered lungs managed a cackle. "You don't say. Amusing game, Dr Lecter, isn't it? Hard to play, if you don't know the rules. I'm damn to make all the wrong moves. Here I am, agonising over the shit I am in while soon enough, if Mason Verger has his way, I'll be preying for a quick and insentient death. But, fool me, it's discourtesy that's ugly."

"To understand the rules, Clarice, you must determine which one of your agonies _is_ the game – the one Mason Verger has subjected you to, or the one you have imposed on yourself. Your shoes didn't catch up, Special Agent Starling. They are still cheap. And very tight."

"Give me some credit, Dr Lecter."

She then looked right at him and for a moment saw as she remembered him in her mind – caught in the instant when he did not mock.

"It _is_ quite something to know you in private life, Clarice."

Dr Lecter could just reach a gash she gnawed on her shoulder. He extended his tongue and licked the wound taking in the zest of her anguish, then traced the tongue to her throat.

"Would you like me to end it _all_ for you, Clarice?" He said, his eyes closed, listening to her body. He felt her shudder as she visualised Mason Verger's upcoming dinner party. Dr Lecter looked up, saw her gaze drift for a moment or two as she considered his offer, her growing insanity and her resolve...

"Clarice?"

She looked again directly at him, jaw set, appreciation in her eyes.

"Thank you, Dr Lecter," she said, "but, no. I know I'll regret it but I'll to take my chances to the end."

"That's my girl," he said with a soft smile and traced his tongue over her mouth, felt her body to tense, sensed her to welcome the moisture on her dry aching lips. Starling was in dire need of a drink.

* * *

"How touching," Mason said impatiently. He had been watching for some time now. "Cool it ... Was it good for you, Doctor? Gets you all tingly and itchy in your crotch, doesn't it?.."

"Are we now being bored with the benefit of your shallow memories, Mason?" Dr Lecter said as Piero moved the forklift back.

"Memories are all I have," Mason said, "but I am pleasuring myself with the thought that my memories will outlive yours, Doctor, and soon you'll become just another one of my shallow memories." He giggled.

"On the subject of pleasure, Mason, former Special Agent Starling needs a drink of water, if she is to delight us further during your hilarious entertainment." Lecter said. "It simply won't do if she is unconscious. Agent Starling, of course, is rather hoping to slip into oblivion."

"Hmm, it won't do indeed." Mason said reflecting. "I was right, her distress does attract you. All the possibilities of what you could do to her, but can't. Ah, how deliciously wicked. My mind runs away with anticipation."

"Carlo, hose her down and give her some water." Mason said.

Carlo pulled a hose closer and turned on water.

Cold cleansing energy of water washed over Starling, punched her out of the feverish void she was quietly wandering into. With the blood washed off the weeping lacerations on her cream skin looked like the delicate vignettes and antique crackling on an exquisite porcelain vase, observed Dr Lecter.

Carlo then reduced the stream to a trickle, brought it to Starling's mouth and she felt life and pain streaming back into her tired body and mind.

Cordell returned with the van, cursing under breath.

"How is that cocksucker, Cordell?" Mason said.

"Mr Krendler is being attended to, everything as you requested, Mr Verger. The helicopter will pick him up tomorrow, you'll have to give me the time you want him here." Cordell said.

"Good. Now check if Ms Starling needs any fluid replacement. And check the film we were running while you were out, see if it's alright or we may have to do another take before we move on." Mason parted his teeth in a substitute for a smile.

"Would you like a drink, Doctor?" Mason said.

"Thank you, Mason, how very kind of you."

"Give him a drink, Carlo, I need the Doctor in a reasonable health for our dinner appointment."

Carlo pushed the hose into Lecter's teeth and turned up the volume. The water ran down his front.

"How quaint, now you can piss yourself, Doctor, and nobody would ever know," Mason giggled.

Cordell examined Starling's wounds, regretting he missed this part, _the tape is not the same as the real thing_, he thought.

"She is okay for now, I may need to put her on drip after the next part." Cordell said.

* * *

_to be continued…_

* * *

Thank you for your time. As ever I'd appreciate your reviews. 

CE


	5. Escaped?

_Storyteller's Notes_: Thank you very much for your reviews. I greatly appreciate the time you are giving to read the story and write the reviews.

I am glad I am able to accommodate you, who give me your time, and not keep you waiting for too long. I am afraid, patience is not one of my virtues, hence, I'd hate myself to wait to find out what has happened in some gripping story.

I hope you'll enjoy this chapter.

Thank you again for your time.

CE

* * *

_Disclaimer_: as in the first part as it is a continuation of the story...

* * *

_story continues..._

* * *

Starling sought it as an opportunity to reflect on the situation. Cold water initially soothed and eased the pain, now it was back. Nothing much she could do about it, except to concentrate on something else. The pain inside her mind was worse still, and to avoid the insanity here and now, she elected to survey the surroundings. She will then revise the information and work out various scenarios of escape, no matter how improbable. She just needed to tie her mind to something other than pain, any pain. Who knows, if she had a plan, if she worked out the moves in this hideous game, it may come handy when it mattered.

_Fight it, Starling, keep focused... You are a warrior... You can be as strong as you wish to be... Right... Tell me about it... _

While men busied themselves with the next act of Mason's madness, Starling had a brief chance to look around. She registered her gun behind the white-haired man's belt with the Deputy's badge. She made a mental note of her clothes in a pile by the wall, the arrangement of the showring and adjoining rooms and entrances, the position of the air rifle and hierarchy of the men.

She glimpsed at Dr Lecter and questioned if he was able to walk, whether she would be able to take him into custody.

_Take him into custody?.. _

She stumbled. Did she still want to take Dr Lecter into custody? Starling felt a rush of confusion, nausea of returning pain. She felt panic of hesitancy and distaste at herself for it. She needed a clear line of action if she is to win this fight. Needed to be a machine, unquestioning, decisive.

_Clarice Staling: the FBI's killing machine,.. _headline came to mind. She was still a sworn agent, suspended, on administrative leave, but not discharged. Was she? Pearsall said, _you're not a law officer, you're Joe Blow._ Balls. She had a duty. She winced remembering Krendler rolling on the ground, spewing up rage. She had a duty not to Krendler, not to FBI, to her father, to her sense of right and wrong. She looked then at Dr Lecter and he knew. For that moment at least the struggle was over, Special Agent Starling, suspended and disgraced, had an upper hand. At least for now.

_Ahh, discipline, duty and self-flagellation. Good evening, Officer Starling..._

Dr Lecter smiled, life without a challenge would be tedious.

* * *

"How much longer, Cordell?" Mason, unable to fidget, was becoming restless and irritant.

"Almost ready." Cordell fiddled with the projector's height and focus until he was satisfied with the Verger family's mansion, projected on the white sheet suspended from the ceiling opposite. "Ready, Mr Verger."

"Excellent. Now, bring Ms Starling down and get the circulation back in her limbs. We'd want her to fully experience the rites of passage."

Propped from the back, Starling was seated on the barn floor, her arms and legs spread, noncompliant, boneless and unbearably tingly as Cordell skilfully massaged them restoring the blood supply to her hands and feet. One of the Sards slipped a whip around her neck to restrain her, pulling her chin up to face the projection.

"You did not think, Doctor, I would bore you with the depiction of my house as magnificent as it is." Mason said and announced with a mocking pomp. "Ms Starling, Dr Lecter, gentlemen, let me present you with the next act in our evening show – The Crucifixion Clock Recreation."

Mason pressed a button on a remote control and a blue lined copy of the crucifixion watch drawing appeared in place of the manor. On the watch face, Jesus was on the cross with the arms pointing to half past nine, the hanging forward head was of Clarice Starling.

"Please, forgive my insolence, Ms Starling, but am I right to understand you've just turned thirty three, the age of our Saviour?" Mason was almost ecstatic.

Starling remained still and impassive. Her mind wandered off to the first time she saw the drawing, to Catherine Baker Martin and Jame Gumb.

_Strange, how things have turned out_, she thought, _had I known it then would I ever set my foot in the Baltimore hospital?_

She remembered then the hurt she felt when all this years ago, even then, in Memphis Krendler wanted to wash his hands of her. Starling remembered the stinging shame she felt after when she realised that in her little lapse into a self-pity she had forgotten about Catherine Baker Martin and her inevitable fate to end up, as Dr Lecter put it, as a vest with tits on it.

_Inevitable fate, unless I did something about it... And I could, thanks to Dr Lecter... Perhaps, this is a price I have to pay for silencing the damn lambs... Didn't he say, the blessed silence you'll have to earn again and again... the payment simply caught up with me... Quid pro quo... Goddamnit, I hope I have enough strength to pay up in style..._

"Your poor copy does not do it justice, Mason." Dr Lecter said as he watched Starling's gaze wander off, once again calm sadness on her face. She was noticeably elsewhere, and he went down the marble halls and cobbled pavements of his memory palace to join her there.

Mason Verger was clearly disappointed with the reaction but the best was yet to come.

"True, quite true, Doctor, however, I am sure, you'll find my _recreation_ to surpass even the original."

The large hardwood cross was then brought into the centre of the showring. Starling was lifted and placed atop, her arms stretched along the cross beam, her feet comfortably resting on the sloped plank at the bottom.

_Jesus, how long he'd been planning it? Did he size me up when I came to interview him?_

Carlo neatly arranged the nails and instruments for the job while Mogli aimed the air rifle at Starling's chest, Tommaso and Piero holding down her shoulders.

"All ready? Good, we'll start with the wrists,.." Mason said. "I must praise you, Doctor, on the accuracy of your sketch. From my experience, you've _got_ to nail them through the wrists and use big wooden washers, otherwise they get loose and start flapping. We'll do without washes in our recreation, though. They'll spoil the appearance, the masterpiece. Anyway, as appealing as it is, Ms Starling won't get a chance to rot and get loose. Patience is not one of my virtues."

"Get on with it, Carlo." Mason's tongue snaked out and moved around the teeth in unrestrained agitation, welcoming long-awaited lip-smacking meal to his lipless mouth.

Starling looked on as Carlo picked up a large horseshoe nail and passed it to Cordell who found the location on the wrist and pushed the nail into the flesh. Carlo then took over, hammering on the nail until it met up with the hardwood underneath. Then Tommaso lifted Starling's arm away for Carlo to bore the hole through the mark the nail made on the wood beneath. The arm was then returned to its position on the cross plank and the nail driven fully through the wrist and into the pilot hole. A neat job.

_You've got to admire the sumbitche's efficiency._ Starling felt a new pain, the sharp piercing pain in her wrist, pushed aside all the other, then it changed into a dull nagging one radiating up her arm and into the shoulder.

She found if she thought of Catherine Baker Martin keening at the bottom of the well, if she recalled the pounding of her heart as she stood in the blackout, Jame Gumb cocking his revolver, she could endure the ripping pain in her body. Vacantly, she observed Carlo to drive a nail trough her one foot, then the other.

_Boy, did it hurt_, it took her breath away, just as well as she was now going breathless through the labyrinth of the late Mrs Lippman's house, securing room after room, searching for Jame Gumb, listening for him through Catherine's cries and that goddamn dog barking. Unaware, Starling was building her own memory palace, in desperation starting with the dungeons and the oubliettes. Unskilled, she compounded the strain on her heart, or, perhaps, it was exactly what she hoped for...

The worst was to come when the cross was upturned and her weight tore at the flesh around the nails. How much pain can human body endure? _Apparently a lot_, Clarice Starling discovered in a space of a few hours. _And not to pass out and fucking stay out... what one needs to do around here to die?_ Then it came, the shock finally overwhelmed her entity and she felt her heart knock hard against her chest and stop as she fell into the blackness.

_Escaped..._

* * *

"Oh, no, you won't," Mason hissed as Cordell crouched over Starling and plunged a needle in her heart. "Get it going, Cordell, get it going. I am not done with her."

"I'll do my best, Mr Verger," Cordell said between giving mouth to mouth and pounding her chest. "Here she comes."

Starling's chest filled up with noise and air as her heart started and she took a few hurried breaths. Absently Starling opened her eyes, saw nothing but the bright light above, her mind still out. Her eyes closed, head rolled to the shoulder as, not allowed to die, her mind claimed its right to asleep.

"I'll get her hooked up now," Cordell inserted an IV needle with a butterfly into the back of each of Starling's hands and fixed the plasma bottles to the top of the cross.

Watching the needle mark on Starling's chest bob up and down as she slept, Dr Lecter was reflecting on his new experience. The Confusion. When he felt her heart stop, the world around him fell dull and silent, in an instant its colours desaturated, smells lost their sharpness, but worst of all, the air in his memory palace, in his private sanctuary, turned stale and heavy. He was struggling to breathe. He found himself in the world without brightness, without spark, without joy. All the thousand rooms, miles of corridors, all the wonderful artefacts he affectionately collected there to provide his comfort and reprieve looked now boring, tedious, useless.

_The world being more interesting with you in it... _he said to Starling once.

It disturbed Dr Lecter to find this concept being also true for his personal world, the world he believed to be in his total control and sole possession. In the eternity of her brief death he saw himself standing within the dusty walls of the empty palace, howling wind blowing the sand through its shattered windows. Like the traveller who stumbled across the ruins of long gone civilisation. A thousand years has passed in an instant.

Hannibal Lecter was unprepared for the intensity his mind held on to Starling. He was stunned, sharp ache pierced his upper arm, the remnants of the cracked bone when he held on to Mischa and failed. Before his eyes the holes were appearing in the floor of his marble sanctuary and the stench was rising up from the putrid oubliettes, clouding his mind, eroding his self-control. The confusion that enveloped him now was destructive as he began to question his choices within the direction of time. Who did he really want to occupy Starling's place – Mischa or Starling herself? Would the intensity of his childhood longing for his sister, the attachment he knew as a six years old boy, be enough to subdue the intensity of his attachment to Starling? He would need to give it more consideration.

"Lift her up," Mason said. "Let the Doctor enjoy the view for an hour and then put them both flat down for the night. We'll continue tomorrow. Mr Krendler might want to add a few touches of his own. We have a full set of farrier tools to suit any whimsy."

The elevating emotions inspired by the re-enactment left Mason drained. He wished he was already lying in the darken chamber, outside of time, slipping quietly into a dream, conjuring the evening's images, drinking the honey of his revenge. Something bothered him. There, during Starling's short venture over the edge, he observed it – the flame in Lecter's maroon eye died. For a moment, at least, Mason realised, Hannibal Lecter was caught out and lost his self-control.

_The son of a bitch does care for the girl. It drove the life out of him to see her dead._

Mason chew on his tongue contemplating what to do with this new knowledge, how, if at all, should this affect his plans. If Starling died first would the Doctor then welcome his end? Or would it distress him more if he watched her consumed by the pigs? Which way would it be more unbearable for his foe? Mason was too tired to think now, he'll give it some thought tomorrow.

When Starling was up again, head hung forward, cross resting on the two massive bolts protruding through the wall, Dr Lecter could not help but admire the tableau that Mason Verger based on his design, he could not help but admire his own genius as the scene in front of him bore a remarkable resemblance to his drawing.

"Isn't it magnificent, Doctor? Well worth the effort, don't you think?" Mason said before Cordell put him into the van.

* * *

_to be continued..._

* * *

Thank you for your time. As ever I'd appreciate your reviews.

CE


	6. Discourage

_Storyteller's Notes_: Thank you very much for your reviews. I greatly appreciate the time you are giving to read the story and write the reviews. Even when there are bad news… --wink--

**The matter of Crucifixion**. I must admit that I have an inadequate knowledge of Crucifixion as a technique, and while I may run into a risk of encountering some real experts in the matter around here, my personal experience doesn't stretch beyond a limited research into the subject and the reality of my imagination.

Unfortunately, the books I've read on the matter give a rather remote point of view of the historian and not of the sufferer. Based on that knowledge, I would argue to defend my description of the event in the story, taking into consideration a few points below.

First, the pain that Starling experienced was so excruciating that she actually died on the cross and was brought back by the nurse in residence.

Second, up to that point of the night Starling had already so much pain in a short time span that her body was going into a shock and, in fact, as result, her ability to feel a separate pain from Crucifixion was diminishing – a new pain, while still prominent, was _fusing in_ with the old and culminating in an ultimate body's breakdown – death.

Third, she did try to compensate this new experience with a distraction of her memories.

And finally, I just felt that I made a point about her suffering and to go on further would be somewhat vulgar and unnecessary.

From now on, to move the story along, the reference to pain would be rather subdued – it is there and as unbearable as ever but the pain is not this story's hero. It is Clarice Starling and her courage and fighting spirit.

I hope you agree, or at least, see my reasons. Of course, that doesn't excuse shabby writing should you find it to be so.

Anyway, do enjoy the final chapter…

CE

* * *

_Disclaimer_: as in the first part as it is a continuation of the story...

* * *

_story continues…_

* * *

The night air in the barn is cold, now without the heat of the flood lights above. The only light source is the tack room and a small lamp shining on Dr Lecter who seems to be asleep.

Tommaso sits in the chair and watches closely Dr Lecter. Mogli and Carlo have gone to the house about the food. Tommaso hopes they will be back soon as his stomach is impatient. Piero busies himself with the radio.

Opposite, in the dark part of the showring, furnace reflections play endlessly hide-and-seek with the deep shadows over a silent figure, hanging on the wall. Starling is floating, soaring above the ground with her arms stretched and her legs together in a tight tail, she has no body just whirl of frosty airstreams.

_Go back to school, little starling, flap your wings and fly away... fly away... That's right, flapping wings, what starlings do, not soaring... flapping..._

She is very tired, all she wants is to sleep, fall in a deep roll and sleep. Never to wake. Something holds her back, irritates her, stops from slipping into the irresistible lull of oblivion. Something Mason Verger said.

_You've got to nail them through the wrists and use big wooden washers, otherwise they get loose and start flapping. Get loose and flapping... flapping her wings..._

Starling looks sideways and examines her wrist. Some considerable length of the horseshoe nail is protruding above the flesh. Square pointed head. No washer. _Oh, yes, he said, the washers spoil the appearance..._

Starling flexes her wrist and fingers. Well, she lived through the worse pain tonight, but the good news she can move her trigger finger, the wrist must be nailed just past the ligament, between the bones. She could grip the gun, she could use it.

_Hell, you can do it, Starling..._

Starling then observes her feet, both nailed through the instep and sole, _damn Verger's precision,_ large square-headed nails closely surrounded by bones. It would require a significant effort to heave her feet off. With her feet being at some distance of the ground, should she loose her balance she is most likely to flip over and snap her ankles. She needs to remain upright, until the enemy is incapacitated and down. Needs to free one arm at the time to keep her balance.

Grateful for the numbness of her freezing body, she clenches her teeth and waits.

All she needs now is Johnny Mogli.

* * *

Deputy Sheriff Mogli stands in front of the bound figure of Dr Lecter. The Italians are eating in the tack room. The hour is almost up.

_He'll secure the prisoners for the night,_ Mogli blows cigarette smoke into Lecter's face, _and then retire to the little room Mason makes available for him when he has to stay overnight._

Behind him, Clarice Starling bites on her lip and holds her breath to kill a smallest whimper as she easies her right wrist along the nail, takes another deep breath before yanking it clean off. She treats it as a gruelling workout, recalling something she heard once in the gym: _Complete every move as if your life depended on it._

_Life, right, _her frozen muscles are numb from cold. The sweat glitters her forehead, runs down her neck.

She lets her freed arm to hang down a while, trying to regain control of her deadened fingers, then pushes them between the wall and the upright stake, bracing for the next move.

Dr Lecter opened his eye and glanced for a moment over Mogli's shoulder, then fixed it on the off-duty policeman. Lecter cocked his head slightly and hissed. "Johnny, may I call you Johnny? Share with me, please, how was it to fuck Agent Starling? Was it go-o-od?"

Mogli licked his lips, took a breath through bared teeth, "Fucking great."

Then he bit the cigarette between his teeth, pulled out Starling's gun and shoved it into Lecter's face. "Here, have a taste, Doc."

Looking over Mogli's shoulder, Dr Lecter produced the pointed pink tip of his tongue, leaned forward and curled his tongue around the barrel of the gun, slowly scooping the taste of her secrete and her blood. He leaned back then, closed his eye and savoured the flavour. When Dr Lecter opened his eye again, shivers went down Mogli's spine as he looked into the maroon eye almost black with fury and cold vehemence.

"Crazy sumbitch!" Mogli said loud. A head appeared through the door, attracted by the noise. Mogli waived, "It's okay."

Leaning forward again, Dr Lecter whispered, sparks flying in his pupils. "Do you know how long I have waited to taste her? Do you care to know why, Deputy Sheriff Mogli?" Chilling smile touched his red lips, when he spoke again his voice was soft and pleasant. "Because it's by invitation only. Do remember it when she spits your little Johnny on the floor. Come to think of it, I couldn't blame her, your little Johnny never managed much, did it, Officer Mogli?.. I don't believe I have a recipe bold enough to overcome its putrid odour and foul taste."

Backing to a safe distance, Mogli felt the weight of the gun in his hand. "Fucking crazy sumbitch." He chewed on his cigarette, considering, then pushed the gun back behind the belt, cold against his quivering stomach. There will be time tomorrow, he will ask Mason if could have a go with the farrier tools. _Will see then about the odour when you shit yourself, Doc._

Over the Deputy Sheriff's shoulder, Dr Lecter observed Starling finally lift her arms back onto the cross beam, resting her wrists on the nails.

"Water, please, can I have some water..." Starling croaked in the voice she did not know.

Mogli turned towards her.

"Agent Starling wants some water, Deputy Sheriff," Dr Lecter said helpfully. "Mason will be ever so unhappy if she died out of turn."

Mogli looked around, noticed the hose lying next to the cross, walked over and bent down to pick it up with one hand and turn the water at the nozzle with the other.

Starling watched him to bend down and flexed her fingers. She'll only have one shot at it.

As he straitened up, both hands on the hose, Starling plunged the fingers of the left hand into Mogli's eyes, pulling him on her, leaning back, the other hand went for the gun next to his belly, cocked and fired down his abdomen. Now her left hand gripped the back of his collar, arm embracing his neck, still pulling him on, as she shot his heart through the badge.

Mogli's dead weight sagging on her, pinning her to the wooden stake. She gripped the gun with both hands now, fighting the tremors of pain and exhaustion, and fired, fired, fired, fired at the blurred figures running out of the tack room.

She registered one man laying still, the firelight flickering in the blood pooling under, two other down, moaning and crying. Starling had no time to loose, the injured had to be assessed and attended. Later, when the scene is secured.

_Clarice Staling: the FBI's killing machine..._

She dropped her empty gun, pulled Mogli's .357 out of his belt holster, checked it. Shifted Mogli's body to the side to expose her nailed feet and shot the square heads off the nails, gun powder stinging her skin. She wondered what the French would call it.

_Discourage, _she mused. _Quite right. This should certainly discourage her to be in goddamn tight shoes again. Not for anyone..._

Checked again on the injured men before letting the gun down, then carefully slid down the upright and grabbed her foot with both hands. Slick with Mogli's and her own blood, her hands slipped as she pulled her foot off and she tumbled to the ground, the sound of her snapped ankle and her scream ringing in her ears.

When she came around, a red curtain veiling over her mind, unable anymore to hold her sobs, Starling lay beside the body of Johnny Mogli, tears rolling down the crinkles at the corners of her eyes, drenched with the failure she loathed.

"Clarice!" She heard. "Special Agent Starling!" She made a move, somebody's calling her. Rolled her head towards the sound, the metallic rasp of that seldom used voice she heard for years in her dreams.

"You are a warrior, Clarice. The enemy is dead. You are a warrior."

"Dr Lecter..." She trailed as he continued to recite. "The most stable elements, Clarice, appear in the middle of the periodic table, roughly between iron and silver. Between iron and silver. I think that is appropriate for you."

Glad and sorry, she felt then when she first heard him read it, in her head, after the Drumgo shooting. Glad and sorry. Glad of the help, sorry he'd seen her weak. She bit her lip and heaved herself up, allowed another scream unclench her teeth as she yanked her broken foot of the nail.

Catching her breath, she checked Mogli's pockets, found her knife and car keys, down his leg found her blood-soaked ankle holster and the gun. Fixed the holster to her good leg, pushed the keys between her teeth and used the knife to cut off the length of the hose, water flooding the ground now. Glancing all the time at the men shuffling and bawling on the ground, she lined the nozzle with the shin and tied the hose around her broken ankle. Lugged the cuffs of Mogli's gun belt and threw them across to the forklift. Then Starling rolled to the pile of the clothes by the wall and pulled the shirt over her shoulders. She cut through the leg of her fatigues to accommodate her broken ankle, pulled them on, blood of her wounds immediately soaked through.

She checked on the men again and registered some change but, dizzy with pain, couldn't quite grasp what it was. Afraid to faint again, she didn't pause to think as Tommaso hauled himself back into the tack room, clutching at his shoulder, blood staining his fingers. **_He grabbed the air rifle and climbed to the hayloft, dropped to his knees and crawled towards the side of the hayloft that overlooked the barn._**

Dr Lecter observed Starling in silence, listening to the agitation of the dark rustling humps behind the Dutch gate.

She rolled over to Dr Lecter, hands outstretched with gun.

"**_Good evening _**again**_, Clarice," he said when he could see her._**

"**_Can you walk, are your legs working?_** She said as she seized his bare feet and hoisted herself up.

"_**Yes."**_

"Don't get any ideas, Doctor," Starling was grasping at him, struggling to stand up, reaching for the bounds on his arm.

"Understood."

"_**Can you see all right?"**_

"_**Yes."**_

"_**I am going to cut you loose. With all due respect, Doctor, if you fuck with me I'll shoot you dead, here and now. Do you understand that?"**_

"_**Perfectly."**_

"_**Do right and you'll live through this."**_

"_**Spoken like a Protestant."**_

Leaning on his body for support, weight off the broken ankle, overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion, she thought, he must be finding her threats hilarious.

_**She was working all the time. The boot knife was sharp. She found the serrated edge worked fastest on the slick new rope.**_

_**His right arm was free.**_

"_**I can do the rest if you give me the knife."**_

_**She hesitated.**_

"What are you going to do, Clarice?"

She lost her footing then and he held her up as she looked into the deep maroon of his good eye, inches away, his breath on her lips.

_Death and danger can come to you in the sweet breath of your beloved, _she remembered seeking his presence in his former cell.

"I am taking you into custody, Dr Lecter."

"Um, I see."

She dropped then to her knees and he let her. **_Backed to the length of his arm and gave him the short dagger._**

"My car must be close by." She still could not see the men on the ground behind him.

_**He had a leg free. He was working on the other, having to cut each coil separately.**_

"**_When you are loose, don't try to run. You'll never make the door. _**There're four pairs of cuffs," Starling said. "Behind you should be three guys, one dead, two wounded, cuff them all to each other. **_Then cuff yourself_**. Then I'll see what they need until the ambulance picks them."

"Clarice, can _you_ walk? It must be quite unbearable in those tight shoes again"

"My shoes are fine, Doctor. You'll walk, I'll drive the forklift until we find my car."

As she spoke **_the dart from Tommaso's rifle flew and quivered in the centre of Starling's back. She spun, instantly dizzy, vision going dark, trying to spot a target, saw the barrel at the edge of the loft and fired. Tommaso rolling back from the edge, splinters stinging him, blue gun smoke rolling up into the lights, _**the tranquilizer rifle hurling down the barn. Tommaso lying on his back in the loose hey, cradling his shoulder and praying.

_**The noise seemed to further animate the pigs and seeing the men in their inviting position on the ground, they squealed and grunted, pressing against the barrier.**_

_**Starling pitched forward on her face, the empty pistol bouncing away.**_

**_Dr Lecter lifted Starling in his arms_**, placed her boots atop**_ and backed fast towards the Dutch gate, pulled the bolts on the Dutch gate. In came the pigs in a rush to the meal that was _**burbling and crying on the ground. **_More rushed on through the barn and into the night._**

_**Dr Lecter, holding Starling, was behind the gate when the pigs rushed through.**_

_**Tommaso from the loft could see his brother's face down in the pack and then it was only a bloody dish. Dr Lecter, erect as a dancer and carrying Starling in his arms, came out from behind the gate, walked barefoot out of the barn, through the pigs...**_

Back to the Book now,

making a few small adjustments along the way.

**Fin**

* * *

Thank you for your time. As ever I'd appreciate your reviews. 

Well, the cat is out of the bag now, so I can say, that recreation of the Crucifixion Clock was behind this story. I just couldn't see how Mason Verger will let it pass by. After all, he did do a lot of crucifixions and re-enactments in his hey days. This one was just begging to be recreated.

I do hope you enjoyed the story. See you around.

CE


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